


The Living Myth

by Uniasus



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fate & Destiny, Season/Series 02, at some point in that time zone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:24:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5821213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a little unnerving, how people in town seem to speak to Arthur but stare at Merlin instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Living Myth

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't finished the show yet, but have already fallen hard.

Once they knew, they came to see him. One by one, two by two, but only occasionally in groups of three. They came silently and smoothly, in the long sleeved tunics of disguises, and kept their heads down. A few days in Camelot was risky, an hour in Camelot was risky, but still they took the risks to see the legend made flesh.

It had passed from the mind of a young boy to the hearts of all of his kin across five kingdoms. Their oldest prophesy, their legend and hope and comfort, was starting to come true. There was a man in Camelot, who’s magic was bright and dragonfire gold, who’s presence made others’ skin hum when close.

The future was no longer a myth, a story to tell children about better days to come. He was here, now, and that meant the Once and Future King would one day soon sit upon the throne.

How could they not go see him?

They weren’t surprised to see he had a thin body and thinner clothes. Or that he seemed to blend into the walls and often ended in the stocks. Their kind was always hiding, and here he was hiding in the beast’s own den.

They were surprised at how he spoke his mind to the crown prince, how he interacted with strangers and friends alike, the way his fumbling, lateness, and brightly colored clothes attracted attention. Oh, he might be pretending to be something he wasn’t, but he was by no means hiding like they were.

It was both foolish and brave, and stories of his close calls had passed from person to person. Yet, he was still there at the prince’s side. The force of destiny couldn’t be stopped.

Such things simply added credibility to this man being the future, the peace to come. People from farther away came to see him.

The fascinating thing seemed his inability to sense them. They could see him burning in their mind’s eye, a column of fire. There was never any trouble finding him, and many a person had brushed by him in the lower city of Camelot simply for the experience of feeling such pure magic. But he never seemed to notice. Never purposely caught their eyes in a crowd, though they always tried to do same. Never sought them out in the market or taverns. Never seemed to even know them until their heritage had be identified by their marks or pointed out by another.

No one knew if it was a conscious decision to reduce the chance of them being caught, or if all those who came to see him were so insignificant in power compared to him they were never noticed.

Most of them, the patient ones who understood the flow and ebb of nature, who trusted in the Old Religion and knew that what was foretold would come to pass, could see what was happening and cursed the renegades who kept pushing back progress.

But progress was made. Despite his lack of stellar servitude, the prince never switched servants. Never chastised him. The two of them had formed a bond that some might call friendship.  And as the men and women and children snuck into Camelot to see the living myth, they saw the force that would change the world.

Get to know the person – trust them enough, love them enough, and it was possible to overlook many flaws. Given time, they could tell that the prince would forgive even the terrible crime of using magic.

After all, Emrys and the Once and Future King had been, are, and will be, entwined by destiny and magic.

* * *

“Sire.”

A peasant bowed before Arthur as they walked through one of the open markets just outside the citidel wall.  That had been happening a lot, these past couple of months Merlin noted. People on the street going out of their way to greet Arthur, congratulate him on being designated officially as the crowned prince.

This far after the ceremony, Merlin knew these men and woman had travelled quite a bit to congratulate Arthur. How far exactly could sometimes be found in their dress and manner of speaking – not all who came were from the kingdom of Camelot.

It made Merlin proud and happy, knowing that knowledge of Arthur’s goodness was spreading. That would be needed in the future, for when the prince united Albion.

“Congratulations on your crowning.” The peasant raised from his bow and continued, looking at Merlin and not Arthur. “I wish to thank you for helping your people.”

That too had been happening a lot. And it was rather unsettling.

“I know you’ll continue to do everything in your power to help the Future King.”

Merlin could hear the emphasis on the last two words. _Druid_ , he thought. He waited for the man to speak to his mind, but nothing was forthcoming. Maybe he was wrong.

With a second bow, the peasant melted into the crowd.

“The people of Camelot are so wonderful. They even acknowledge your work, Merlin.”

“If only you could, too.”

Merlin was sure the only reason he hadn’t received a friendly shove was because he was a few steps behind the prince.

“Come on,” Arthur said, “the west gate is this way.”

Merlin jogged a few steps to catch up with Arthur, careful to skirt around a pile of manure. A woman bumped into his shoulder and Merlin felt her hand stroke his arm from elbow to wrist. He turned to look at her, but all he caught was the back of a muddy plum cloak.

Logically, bumps in the street happened all the time, but lately Merlin felt people had reached a whole new level of touching. It made him feel awkward, especially coupled with the strangeness of people not seeming to know if they were talking to Arthur or himself. But Merlin never sensed anything off or dangerous about such situations. They were just a normal version of strange, no magic involved.

As were the strange things that kept showing up in the physician suite, like fresh fruit or pastries Gaius never received from the royal kitchens nor bought in the market. Or the small items that seemed to show up in his personal room – strips of clothes with beads on them, rare plants used in potions, polished stones.

Merlin frowned as he walked. They were all harmless things, pleasant things, but he had to admit their sudden appearance did make him feel as unsettled as having strange farmers and peasants praise him.

“Merlin, get your head out of the clouds and pay attention.”

“Yes, sire.” Merlin snapped to attention, seeing that they had reached the west gate. One of the guards had mentioned it might need repair work, and they had come out to inspect it.

“Climb up there and inspect that top hinge.”

“On that rickety ladder?”

“Don’t worry. A fall from that height won’t kill you.” Arthur grinned and with a sigh Merlin started climbing.

At the top, he had to lean over slightly to see the hinge. “What am I looking for?” he shouted down.

“Cracks in the stone,” one of the guards shouted up.

Merlin leaned over further, away from the stone wall and towards the open gateway. Below, he noticed a familiar plum cloak pass underneath. It was the woman who had brushed his arm, and with her was the man who had stopped Arthur in the market. Both of them, even while crossing through the gate, had their faces up and looking towards him. And there, just visible on the woman’s neck past her long hair was an inked swirl.

Druids, the pair of them.

But again, they were silent. No words in his head and Merlin wondered if maybe Mordred was special in his ability to communicate that way.

Wanting to say a proper hello, now that he knew who they were and they obviously knew who he was, Merlin smiled and lifted a hand to wave to them.

Which of course led to a shift in his balance that sent him toppling from the ladder.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted and before the warlock knew it he was sitting on the prince’s chest as the force from Merlin’s fall pushed them both to the ground.

In a rush, Merlin rolled off Arthur and pulled the prince to his feet. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Watch what you’re doing Merlin! If you fell on your arm you wouldn’t have been able to polish my armor later.”

“What a tragedy,” Merlin said, circling Arthur as he brushed dirt and bits of hay off of the prince’s clothes.

“What in the King’s name made you take your hand off the wall? A pretty girl?”

Merlin looked over Arthur’s shoulder through the gate to the people standing around on the other side watching them. The druids were gone, which was probably for the best. Merlin didn’t know what they were doing in Camelot, but it had been dangerous of them to come.

“Something like that,” he answered.

“Well, don’t get distracted again.”

“Yes, Arthur.”

Despite Arthur’s gruff tone, he couldn’t help smiling.


End file.
